


Not According To Plan

by vulcanhighblood



Category: Legion of Super Heroes - All Media Types, Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: 31st Century (DCU), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Computer Viruses, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Issues, Fear of Death, Gen, Mentions of Major Character Death, Missing Scene, Panic Attacks, Sorry Not Sorry, Time Travel, Vomiting, Xenocide (mention)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23011501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcanhighblood/pseuds/vulcanhighblood
Summary: (Post Season 3 Ep.18 "Shelter From the Storm")Querl and Imra return to the 31st Century. It's not at all what they expected.-OR-The Legion sent Brainy back to the 21st Century and brought Winn to the 31st. This is why they made that decision.
Relationships: Imra Ardeen & Querl Dox, Imra Ardeen/Mon-El (past), Querl Dox & Legionnaires
Comments: 28
Kudos: 32





	1. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Querl and Imra head back to the 31st century. It's not what they were expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted that I have only seen up through the first 4 episodes of Supergirl Season 4, and don't know anything about what Winn says when he gets back (in Season 5? I've seen some clips), so just assume there will be some canon divergence here. I hope you can enjoy the story anyway. I saw an opportunity for angst and a glaring lack of information, and felt a mighty need to fill that gap. So. Here we are. Enjoy!

It was not the first time Querl wished he were better at offering comfort to his friends. It was, however, one of the most awkward times, as he and Imra were the only two conscious legionnaires onboard the cruiser, and so Querl was unable to step aside and allow one of their more emotive friends to offer empathy that Querl was not well-equipped to offer. 

He glanced at her, most of his thought-tracks still occupied with piloting their ship through the disruption. Last time they’d gone through one of these, it had ended… badly. Well. Not _badly,_ per se. But certainly not according to plan. Querl didn’t like it when things _went sideways,_ so to speak, and he did not intend for such an incident to occur a second time. Perhaps he should look into designing a more compact and reliable method of temporal displacement than attempting to pilot an _entire sprocking cruiser_ through a dangerous and poorly-understood spatial anomaly. One of these days, he wasn’t going to be smart enough to save them all from their hubris - from his own hubris. If they were going to be making a _habit_ of time travel - and the way things had been trending, that was becoming a distinct possibility - he should definitely prepare more reliable methods of transport through time and space. He tucked that idea in the back of his mind for consideration at a later date. After all, the technology aboard their cruiser was hardly sufficient for such an endeavor, and there was still the matter of Imra.

She was pointedly _not crying,_ and honestly, that made it worse in some ways. Her deep breaths, the eyes held wide open so as to attempt to evaporate the increasing moisture… Sprock, she was going to cry and Querl didn’t know what to _do._ He always knew what to do when there was some _technical_ issue, but emotional issues were very much not his area of expertise. It was distressing. Which made him feel guilty, because honestly, what kind of friend felt _distressed_ at the idea of needing to comfort a friend? 

“Imra,” Querl finally said when he could no longer bear the silence, sparing a glance in her direction. 

“Querl?” Imra turned to look at him, a question in her gaze.

“If you need… emotional support,” Querl couldn’t remember words ever being this difficult to force through his lips, but he persisted. “I could… I mean, I… am here,” he finally managed. It was only after he’d said it, though, that he recognized the double meaning that could be taken from his words. _I am here, Mon-El is not._ Sprock. “That is to say-!” Querl _did_ turn to look at her now, shifting another thought-track or two to the present conversation as he had been unable to give his previous statement sufficient consideration. “I can listen, I -”

Imra cut him off with a quiet laugh, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Thank you, Brainy,” she said. “I appreciate your... support.” She bit her lip lightly, eyes traveling across the bridge, avoiding his gaze to look out at the ever-expanding disturbance before them. “I’ll be all right.”

“Yes. Good. Of course,” Querl found himself babbling, too relieved to properly police his tone. “I wouldn’t dream otherwise.”

Imra glanced at his hands, which were still dancing across the cruiser interface, as they had been since they’d left Earth for the second time that day. “Are we set for transport?”

“Nearly,” Querl answered, returning his attention to the precise calculations. He was definitely going to design a program, perhaps an entire device, to do this work _for_ him next time. It was _exhausting_ and _time consuming_ and really, he couldn’t _plot a course through time and space_ while also having an _emotional conversation._ He needed to choose one or the other, even a brain of his level of intellect couldn’t possibly do both of those things at once without a significant margin of error. And he couldn’t afford _any_ errors at the moment. Programming a device capable of plotting a route through spacetime seemed monumentally easier than designing a device capable of navigating emotional conversations, so he figured he would likely work on that design first. He wasn’t even sure how one _would_ go about designing a device to navigate an emotionally charged conversation. Another conundrum for another time, then. 

He still wasn’t focusing on plotting that route through the disturbance. Amazing, how quickly an emotional response could derail an otherwise logical mind. “If you place yourself in stasis, I will be there shortly,” Querl said. “I’ve double-checked all the pods, they should be perfectly safe now.” _Should,_ a quiet voice whispered in the back of his head. But he _had_ checked, double checked, triple checked. And he remembered each time he’d checked them clearly, thanks to his eidetic memory. And yet, he knew he would end up checking every single legionnaire’s pod again before he put himself in cryosleep as well. If all went well, they’d be back to the future in a relatively short time, and the cryosleep wouldn’t be necessary. If all didn’t go well… best case scenario, at least they wouldn’t age as their bodies were flung into the crumbling decay of a universe ending.

Querl shook that thought aside, as it, too, would not be useful in plotting their course. He had no room for anxiety in a calculation this delicate. He needed to be confident. So he would be. 

“See you soon,” Imra said, leaving the bridge.

“Yes,” Querl replied, only half-listening. This next bit would be crucial.

* * *

When Querl awoke his first order of business was ensuring that their cruiser had indeed reached the 31st century. He checked his charts, ran a few sweeps to identify the universe’s age, and determined that yes, they had indeed returned to their own time. Excellent. So far, things had gone according to plan. Once he had determined they were in the correct time, he set about ensuring they were in the correct _place._ Hopefully, the absence of the Blight had not significantly altered the star maps, as Querl wouldn’t know which areas of space were neutral or friendly territory until he updated the cruiser with the most recent information from COMPUTO at legion HQ. He entered a route that _should_ be safe, and then returned to the stasis pods. First, he woke Imra. Together, the two of them began to rouse their fellow legionnaires. 

Of course, this had an unintended side-effect that Querl really should have anticipated. After being asked “Where’s Mon-El?” for the fifteenth time, he took a more proactive stance, informing his fellow legionnaires (out of Imra’s earshot, of course), “Mon-El is not here, we will explain later,” just so that no one would ask _Imra_ and risk once more inducing the bout of _not-crying_ she’d been doing earlier. She was Titanian, so really, it didn’t help much as he was sure there was a constant buzz of ‘where’s Mon-El’ floating through at least one of their minds at any given time, but he hoped by somewhat easing their concerns, perhaps the question wouldn’t feel so _loud_ to Imra. 

Querl was just beginning to think they’d done it, they’d actually succeeded in seeing the plan through without any major complications, when the ship shuddered to a halt, a dozen warnings popping up that he had entered unfriendly space and if their ship did not identify they would be annihilated. 

“Sprock!” he hissed, and charged for the bridge, activating their hailing frequency as he did so. “Hello, you have contacted the deep space transport cruiser of the Legion of Super Heroes. We were unaware that this was unfriendly space, as our maps are…” He winced. “...out of date.”

The viewscreen at the fore of the bridge flickered to life, revealing the face of an angry Braalian. _“Unacceptable. It has been long established that this sector belongs to Braal.”_

Querl felt the first flicker of real concern that perhaps things in the future weren’t as solved as he’d hoped - their cruiser was nowhere _near_ the planet Braal. At least, not according to his (apparently _very_ inaccurate) maps. “I see,” was all he said, ignoring the gasps of shock as legionnaires began piling into the room behind him. He wondered if Rokk was up and moving yet, as he’d been one of the last to come out of the pods. They might need his help, and soon. Braalians were notoriously unwilling to negotiate with any but their own. “Could you direct us to a neutral route? We meant no offense.” He flicked on their own viewscreen so that the Braalian could see they were, indeed, a ragtag band of heroes, and not a threat. 

Unexpectedly, the Braalian’s eyes grew wide, their face paling. _“You!”_ they gasped, pointing directly at Querl. _“You bear the mark of the Computer Tyrant!”_

Querl pointed to himself, more to acknowledge the accusation then out of any real confusion. “You are referring to this?” he asked for clarification, pointing to the triad of circles on his forehead, and then his chest. He didn’t wait for a response, barreling on by noting, “I generally prefer the term _Coluan,_ but historically-”

 _“You_ **_monster,_ ** _”_ the Braalian hissed, _“How dare you bear his sigil?”_

“It’s my _clan,”_ Querl protested, gesturing to the circles on his chest once more for emphasis. “You see, I am Brainiac-”

 _“You dare speak that name?”_ The Braalian appeared truly incensed at this point.

Querl was beginning to suspect that they would not be able to learn of a neutral route to Legion HQ if he continued to be the one conducting negotiations. “Would someone else like to speak on behalf of the Legion? _Please?”_ Querl asked, glancing over his shoulder. Oh, excellent. Rokk had just stumbled in. “Cosmic Boy,” he hailed the dark-haired Braalian. “If you would be so kind.”

Rokk wobbled over, still looking a bit worse-for-wear. “I heard we accidentally flew into hostile space?” he said.

“It appears so,” Querl said, quickly stepping aside. “Also, my appearance seems to be causing… distress. I shall make myself scarce.” He was trying very hard not to think about what the Braalian had said. _You dare speak that name?_

_That name._ Brainiac. Querl had a sneaking suspicion that this was not the bright future they’d hoped to discover upon their return to the 31st Century. The universe simply wasn’t that kind. He should have expected that. Planned for it. 

“Hello,” Rokk was saying, “I am Cosmic Boy of the Legion of Superheroes. We are very sorry to have entered this sector without a proper invitation. Please inform us of the nearest neutral space and we will immediately retreat to that position.”

Querl had managed to wedge himself in a corner where he could still make out the screen, and Rokk, without being spotted by the visual sensor. He needed to know what had _happened_ to their future. How had Braal gone from a backwater, desolate planet to one occupying space _far_ beyond its borders? It didn’t make sense.

 _“What are you doing, child of Braal?”_ demanded the Braalian on the screen. _“Why are you working with the Computer Tyrant?”_

“I promise you, we are not working with a computer tyrant,” Rokk insisted, sounding quite confident despite the way he was wobbling on his feet. Still feeling a bit of the vertigo from long-term cryosleep, then. 

Technically, Rokk wasn't speaking the truth, though Querl doubted he was aware of it. “Computer Tyrant” was, in actuality, a very old name for a subservient class of techno-organic constructs that had risen up against their former masters to become what was now the primary sentient race on Colu. In a technical sense, yes, Querl was a “computer tyrant”, though in this time, that name ought to be part of _ancient history._ His people, the people of Colu, had been originally combined with AI in order to be excellent servants, but their abilities and intellect had given them the ability to fight for their rights as _free, sentient beings_ . At first, the revolution had been bloody and vengeful, leading to the nickname “computer tyrants”, as those techno-organic Coluans used their new status to abuse the fully biological Coluans they’d once called “Master”. Over time, however, old grudges gave way to acceptance and equality. Within a span of generations, Coluans who had not been born with cybernetic capabilities were allowed to undergo surgery or receive genetic therapy so they might also assimilate their consciousness within a hive mind, colloquially referred to as “The Big Brain”. Over time, fewer and fewer fully biological Coluans were born, and their world became one where machines were _living, feeling, thinking_ beings. In his own time, Querl had never heard of fully biological Coluans in existence. Coluans had evolved. They had sparked their own evolution, through revolution. 

Armed with this knowledge, Querl could not understand why the phrase “computer tyrant” had somehow become relevant once more. Curing the Blight couldn’t have so radically altered history as to reverse the Coluan revolution. So what had changed?

 _“Then explain how you are able to pilot your spacecraft with so few Braalians aboard,”_ the Braalian continued. 

“We have a navigational system,” Rokk said, sounding utterly baffled. A sentiment that appeared to be echoed by most of the Legionnaires in earshot, including Querl.

The Braalian recoiled as if they’d been struck. _“Navigational system?”_

“Yes,” Rokk answered, his eyebrows furrowing as he gazed back at the Braalian. “Our onboard computer calculates-”

 _“Impossible!”_ the Braalian interrupted, face reddening in fury. _“There are no more computers!”_

That stopped _everyone._ All the whispers, all movement, everything on the bridge _stopped._

“What do you mean, no computers?” Rokk asked carefully, his voice quiet. 

_“The Computer Tyrant destroyed all forms of artificial intelligence, and even still the virus ravages any system that has grown too sophisticated. Computers are a thing of the past, Child of Braal.”_ The Braalian tilted their head, frowning curiously at Rokk. _“How do you not know this?”_

Rokk was saying something, likely asking more questions, but Querl was no longer listening to the exchange, his entire mind completely focused on what he had just heard. 

_The Computer Tyrant destroyed all forms of artificial intelligence._

_Even still the virus ravages any system that has grown too sophisticated._

Panic tore through Querl at a rate he would not have previously considered possible. Immediately, he began to shut down any interface between himself and the ship's computers. He closed down any access points to _any_ incoming signals, and shut down any outgoing signals from his own processors. He closed down any non-essential programs, locked down his system, and then lowered himself to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees and tried to breathe. Sprock. _Sprock._

He was going to die. He’d saved the sprocking universe from the Blight, and had instead sentenced his entire homeworld to death. 

Colu was dead. 

If he couldn’t keep his onboard systems _completely isolated_ from _any and all_ computer systems, he’d be next.

So much for their _sprocking_ plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally couldn't contain myself after seeing the finale episode of S3 where they're oh-so-casually like "hey so all of the AIs are dead in the future" and I was like OH SO COLU IS DEAD? COOL. COOL COOL COOL. SO GLAD WE COULD GLOSS OVER THE FACT THAT BRAINY IS BASICALLY "THE LAST SON OF COLU". And then?? It's like, not even a thing in S4, at least not that I could see. Which, again, cool cool cool.  
> SO WHEN I SAW S4 Ep4. Brainy CRIES and I was like "Welp obviously he's dealing with a lot of stress" and then I was like "maybe theres more stressing him than just this, maybe he's feeling like he cant save anyone anymore bc OH YEAH HIS HOMEWORLD IS DEAD, THATS COOL"  
> I love avoiding talking about xenocide, its the best  
> Anyway I kept thinking about how brainy is trying his best to hold himself together even as the future he's known has fallen apart and even when everyone else gets their happy ending hes still like "WTF Universe, WHY???"  
> and i wanted to know how they decided that brainy would be a refugee in the past and decide to bring Winn forward (we all know theres gotta be more to it than what we saw, i refuse to leave it at writers' handwaving), so I figured i'd just write it myself. Thus, this fic was born.  
> Since I haven't even seen beyond S4 Ep4, please don't hate me if any of the details are wrong, I might change them when I finally catch up to S5. I might not. That's why I tagged this canon divergent, so that if I decide I like my version better, I can just keep it.  
>  _ **Also,** HUGE thanks to a few particular kind folks on tumblr who made this fic happen:_  
>  **cyclone-rachel** (same username on AO3 I think) for giving me a list of Episodes starring Brainy to jump-start my knowledge base  
>  **thestormfall** for recommending some people to help me figure out this Arrowverse (that is what we're calling this?? Arrowverse?? I'm a little baby fan just joining the fandom i know nothing) Brainy a little better  
> and  
>  **fairyroses** who gave me a way to watch supergirl episodes since they don't have them on Netflix in my country of residence  
> Y'all are the real heroes of this story.


	2. Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They plot a course for Legion HQ. Querl continues coming to terms with the new reality presented to him.

Querl never realized how _lonely_ it was to be trapped in your own head until his thoughts had nowhere else to _go._ The others would tease him, at times, about his attachment to devices and other objects they considered “inanimate”. But they were fully organic beings, they didn't understand computers, not the way Querl did. They couldn’t see how clever some systems were, they’d never really noticed the antics some devices would pull. True, the devices and computers that Querl interacted with on a daily basis were not sentient the way a Coluan was, but neither were pets and nobody made fun of people for conversing with or ascribing anthropomorphic qualities to _them._

He’d been on the Legion cruiser for over three hours, watching his teammates manually input the coordinates for the route through neutral space that Rokk had eventually gotten from their Braalian contact. Querl wasn’t even allowing himself to _touch_ the computer, too worried that he might access the device unintentionally. Instead, he stood back, watching the Legionnaires inputting the information with painstaking slowness and fighting back an ever-growing sense of frustration. Was this to be his life, now, in the 31st century? He couldn’t function like this, he wasn’t _built_ to be so totally cut off from all computer systems. It was like torture, like he’d completely walled off a part of his own soul. Which, to be fair, he essentially had, as he was as much A.I. as he was an organic lifeform. 

“Brainy, we would all really appreciate it if you would stop pacing,” Rokk snapped, glancing up from the console to fix an irritated glare on Querl.

Querl froze, steepling his fingers as he stared back at the Braalian. “Very well,” he said, barely suppressing the urge to respond in a childish manner. “I will stop pacing.” It took far more willpower than he’d expected, but he did stop. He watched them plug in another coordinate, and another. Grife, it was going to take them another 2.564 hours to complete the task at this rate. Inhaling deeply, Querl focused on exhaling as slowly as possible. It helped, incrementally. He watched them plug in the wrong coordinate. Waited to see if they would notice. They didn’t. “Rokk, that should be one-four-seven-five point nine-nine-eight-three by one-two-seven point seven-seven-four-eight-one,” Querl pointed out, “Not one-four-seven-five point nine-nine-eight-three by one-two-seven point seven-seven-four-eight- _seven.”_

Rokk glanced between his notes, the map they’d been charting, and blanched. “Right,” he noted, and changed the coordinate. “Thanks, Brainy.”

“You’re welcome,” Querl answered. It wasn’t much. Wasn’t _anything,_ really, considering how quickly he’d have been able to plot the route if he were in contact with the cruiser’s computer. But that was no longer an option. 

“I wonder what Legion HQ looks like without computers,” Reep Daggle wondered aloud, plotting the next coordinate. “I bet it looks different.”

Querl didn’t want to think about it. But it was better than wondering what _Colu_ would look like. “I am certain that the aesthetic details will not have changed significantly, merely the mechanisms required to operate it.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Chameleon agreed, frowning as he waited for Rokk to finish typing in his coordinate before starting the next one. 

Querl resisted the urge to sigh. This was going to take a _long_ time.

* * *

After manually inputting all of the commands to fly the Legion cruiser to New Metropolis, they were finally able to gather everyone together to discuss their options. As the Legionnaire who had spoken with the Braalian, Cosmic Boy seemed the best choice to lead the meeting. 

“Thanks for coming, everyone,” Rokk said, ignoring the fact that there really weren’t many other places to go when aboard a spacecraft. “As we’ve all been made aware by now, the mission was a success, and we successfully prevented the Blight from ever happening.” He frowned a little. “However, from what I understand, a new threat has taken its place. A villain, one that many are calling _the Computer Tyrant_ , has created a virus that spread throughout the universe, destroying all forms of Artificial Intelligence.” 

Eyes turned to Querl, who was doing his best to ignore that and keep his gaze fixed on Rokk. Everything felt so much slower when he didn’t have as many things to occupy his mind, and he mentally noted who was staring at him (everyone but Rokk), immediately regretting his decision. He didn’t like being under scrutiny.

“What makes this interesting is that the Computer Tyrant is identified using a symbol we are all very familiar with.” Now Rokk, too, was staring at Querl. 

The sensation of being stared at was growing nigh unbearable. Nonetheless, Querl persisted. He pointed to the symbol on his chest, trying not to look put out. He had a very good idea of who this Computer Tyrant might be, and it was objectively _terrifying._ “Yes, he or she is most likely a Brainiac,” Querl said, trying for nonchalant and failing miserably, if the tremor in his voice was any indicator. “This symbol has long been used as a crest for my clan, and was recognized by our Braalian contact as a symbol of the Computer Tyrant. It follows, then, that this…” _Killer. Monster. Destroyer of worlds._ “...villain… is likely one of my ancestors.” Which one, Querl had no real way of knowing. That was the problem with having a surplus of villainous ancestors. Too many to choose from to know for sure who was responsible. And it would likely be extremely difficult to get any information on that subject, considering Querl would not have access to _any computer systems_ for the foreseeable future.

“What are we going to do?” one of the Legionnaires asked. It might have been Chameleon. Whoever it was, Querl hadn’t spotted them, as he had directed his gaze to the crest emblazoned on his chest. Without access to the ship’s security system, he wasn’t able to view the room from alternate angles to identify who had spoken. He fought down another wave of irritation at the inconvenience.

“First, we’ll head back to Legion HQ,” Cosmic Boy said, “And from there, we’ll try to gather information, and come up with a plan.”

Querl nodded along with the rest of the room, but his mind was whirling. A plan. To do what? How could they eradicate what was clearly deeply embedded in the social structure of this time? Grife, even an attempt to eradicate the virus might bring down upon their heads the wrath of planets that had benefited from the widespread eradication of advanced technology. Eradication of an entire _race,_ if not _races._

Oh, and that was a thought he didn’t want to pursue, but found his mind unable to resist the magnetism of _horror_ that was slowly overtaking him. All Artificial Intelligence was eradicated. Dead. Colu was _dead._ _Dead,_ without question. There was no way one of his ancestors would have created a virus to destroy all forms of artificial intelligence and chosen to spare Colu. True, Querl had been something of a persona non grata on his homeworld, due to his insatiable desire to create, design, and _experiment_. Colu was a world largely based on intellect, not action, which was a large part of why he’d left in the first place. But just because he hadn’t always felt _welcome_ or _wanted_ on his homeworld didn’t mean he wanted them all _dead._ The very thought sickened him, made it hard to breathe, hard to _think._

It was like all of his emotion was _choking_ him, and that shouldn’t be, he had specific parameters in place to prevent his emotions from overwhelming him like that. Was it because he’d shut down all nonessential functions in his onboard AI? That didn’t make sense, the inhibitors were treated as an essential function. So what, then, was causing this failure to adequately process an emotional response?

“Brainy?” Imra was standing beside him, and _sprock,_ he hadn’t seen her coming, hadn’t noticed her there, hadn’t… grife, he was falling apart, wasn’t he? 

“Saturn Girl,” Querl managed to force the words out, but his chest felt tight. Sprock, it shouldn’t hurt to breathe, he had kept _all essential functions active._ Was it the virus? Had he already been infected? Maybe he _was_ dying, perhaps he hadn’t been fast enough to cut off access, and now he was going to _shut down._ “I think I’m… dying,” he choked out, looking down at his hands, watching them tremble as black spots danced in his vision. 

“Brainy,” Imra’s voice was a little more firm, “I want you to breathe, okay? Take a deep breath.”

Querl _was_ breathing. He was breathing fine, that wasn’t the problem, the problem was that he _couldn’t sprocking feel his fingers or his toes._ He was losing sensation. His AI was shutting down, he was losing his sprocking mind, he was _dying,_ he was -

A sharp pain bloomed across the side of his face, and he blinked, hard. Imra was staring at him, eyebrows furrowed, hand extended. 

Tentatively, Querl reached up, resting his hand on his cheek. “You slapped me!” he accused.

“I did,” Imra didn’t sound the least bit repentant. “Now breathe in, and don’t breathe out until I tell you.”

Querl did as he was asked, confused, but not really wanting his last living moments to be spent getting slapped by Imra a _second time._ He inhaled deeply, waiting until Imra said “exhale slowly”, and then did so. He continued to breathe when she told him to, focusing on her commands, and was surprised to feel the tightness in his chest begin to loosen. His hands and feet were still cold, but he was starting to be able to feel them again. He flexed his fingers experimentally, and was glad to see they moved smoothly, no longer shaking uncontrollably. 

“Better?” Imra asked, her eyes concerned as she looked him over.

Querl took another deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I… think so,” he said. “I no longer believe I am dying, anyway.”

Nodding, Imra rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “That’s good. Do you need anything?”

Querl needed to feel _safe._ But there was little chance of that, at least in _this_ century, it seemed. Instead, he shook his head. “I do not.”

Imra patted his shoulder again, and then walked over to whisper something in Rokk’s ear. The two of them glanced back at Querl over their shoulders and then returned to whispering. Again, Querl found himself wishing he had access to the computers, he would at least be able to try and read their lips if not pick up audio. How was he supposed to maintain his air of omniscience if he couldn’t _see_ and _hear_ what was going on at all times? It was so sprocking boring, all twelve of his thought-tracks being trapped in a single body that was still terrified of _dying_ the next time he accessed a computer. He also needed to make sure that the Legion cruiser wasn’t contaminated - if it were, then they would end up stranded at HQ, at least until they learned how the people of this time piloted their spacecraft. The Braalian had insinuated that their race was somehow responsible for space travel. 

Querl wondered if it had to do with magnetism, what manner of propulsion system might be constructed using Braalian powers. That led him down a tangent, wondering if there were any other abilities in the Legion that could be applied as a propulsion system in the event that the Legion cruiser suffered a catastrophic system failure. 

There were no Legion powers that would save _him_ from a catastrophic system failure, though. 

Sprock. He was supposed to be thinking about _useful topics,_ not contemplating his own mortality. 

“I assume you have a backup of your brain somewhere?” Reep Daggle, ever insensitive, sidled up to Querl, shooting him a mischievous grin. “In case, you know,” he dragged his thumb across his throat in a crude gesture, crossing his eyes and allowing his tongue to loll out, his antennae drooping in a dramatic imitation of… death.

Shutting his eyes momentarily, Querl resisted the urge to strangle the Durlan. He turned to fully face his teammate, using every remaining ounce of self-control to steeple his fingers together, rather than resort to a more violent response. “That’s not how Coluan biology works, Chameleon.” 

“It’s not?” Reep at least had the decency to look _upset_ at the revelation. “Oh. Oh!” He looked hard at Querl, his face twisting into a look of discomfort. “I feel like a nass. I didn’t know...” he looked away, his shoulders stiffening. “Sorry.”

Querl wanted to ask why he’d sprocking said it, then. Choosing instead to take the high road, he shrugged one shoulder. “Coluans die, same as any other organic being. Our consciousness, however, joins a larger construct of shared Coluan minds.”

“Oh, so like an afterlife!” Reep grinned.

It wasn’t _like_ an afterlife, it was a literal afterlife, one constructed from all the ancestral minds that had gone before them. Except it _wasn’t._ Not anymore. “It used to be,” Querl said, before he could quite stop himself. 

The Durlan tilted his head, confused. “What do you mean, _‘used to be’_?”

Querl’s hands trembled with the desire to clench into fists. “Our _afterlife,_ as you call it, is a massive unity of _Coluan minds._ It is… an artificial construct.” Querl swallowed hard, and despite the fact that he hadn’t eaten recently enough to run any real risk of sicking up, he felt his stomach churn. “It is, in simple terms, a highly complex... Artificial Intelligence system.”

Reep stumbled back as though Querl had physically struck him. “What?”

He really was going to be sick, Querl realized, clutching at his stomach and inhaling sharply through his nose. It didn’t help. He coughed twice, feeling his insides twist inside him as he bent double, swallowing hard to fight back the saliva gathering in his mouth. It didn’t work. 

“But that means…” Reep was saying, his voice far away, “they’re all dead? Like, _dead_ dead?”

Coughing again, Querl dropped to a crouch, now _certain_ his insides were attempting to turn themselves inside out. A dribble of saliva ran down his chin, and he breathed, he swallowed… he failed to hold it in, his whole body convulsing as he heaved, dropping to all fours. The dribble of water he’d drank several hours earlier came up, splattering across the floor as he shuddered, still trying to vomit despite his now-empty stomach. 

Querl felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, holding him as he heaved, and shook, and heaved, and shook. It felt like an eternity before he was able to breathe without feeling his insides twist. He swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing at the bitter taste that lingered on his tongue. 

“I’m so sorry, grife, that was so insensitive of me,” Reep still had his arm slung around him as he rambled, “That’s sprocking horrible, I didn’t even think… sprock, your whole _planet…”_

Querl sat up slowly. “My whole planet,” he repeated. “Yes.” He shut his eyes. “Also _my ancestor.”_

Beside him Reep stiffened. The arm around Querl’s shoulders tightened. “We’ll figure this out, Brainy. We will.”

 _I’m glad you’re confident in that,_ Querl thought dismally, _because I am not._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it continues.  
> I really shouldn't be enjoying this as much as I am, but there's something very satisfying about writing angst, and Brainy is such an easy target.  
> I still haven't decided who the third legionnaire aboard was, as far as I can remember they never explicitly said on the show, I think they implied Chameleon was there, and then I made the executive decision to include Rokk because it was convenient. I'm not sure if we'll ever know who that third Legionnaire we never saw really was.  
> I'm also in the middle of trying to wrap my head around  
> TIME TRAVEL  
> because when you go back and change the past and then things change,................. what do you remember? The old past you lived or the new past you've created? Both? Is there an alternate you in the future that merges with the past you when you return to your time? Is it a Schrodinger's Hero, where you both do and do not exist simultaneously until the time travel is complete?  
> So. Confusing.  
> So anyway hopefully I'll make my decision soon so next chapter can come out in a timely manner.  
> Thanks again for reading!! :D


	3. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth of their situation is revealed. It's... not good.

As the cruiser landed outside Legion HQ, everyone was relieved to spot their friends - fellow legionnaires - rushing out to greet them in the docking bay. Querl hung back a little, still a little shaky and not feeling especially confident at the moment. He was glad to be home, of course, but as bad as the home he’d left had been, he couldn’t help feeling cheated that _this_ was what he’d come back to. 

“Come on, Brainy, let’s go!” Chameleon urged, pausing to glance back at him before jogging down the walkway and exiting the craft. 

Resisting the urge to sigh, Querl followed the Durlan out of the cruiser. It took him an entire three seconds to realize something was wrong - far longer than it should have, but he was distracted and in distress, so he wasn’t going to be too hard on himself over it. He slowed to a halt when he realized the smiles and cheerful greetings that had been flying between the other legionnaires had all ceased entirely. 

“What?” he asked, looking around cautiously. “Is something amiss?”

Ultra Boy, apparently taking charge of the situation, took two large steps forward. “Brainy?” he said, voice hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or distressed. 

“...yes?” Querl replied cautiously. He looked around, noting that while some Legionnaires were watching him with very _odd_ looks, others’ expressions appeared downright hostile. It was an unexpected reaction, to be sure. It didn’t seem to bode well for the state of things here in the future. “Has something happened?”

Cautiously folding his arms over his chest, Ultra Boy looked him over with narrowed eyes. “Where did you come from?” he asked, glancing between Querl and the rest of the Legionnaires, who had fully disembarked, leaving Querl alone in the center of attention in the middle of the boarding walkway. 

“We went back to the twenty-first century with Mon-El to cure a plague that was killing billions of people in our time,” Querl explained quickly. “We succeeded in preventing the plague from ever reaching this time, and so we returned to this century. However, it seems that all is _not well,_ despite the success of our mission…?” he raised an eyebrow, hoping to prompt a bit more _detailed information_ from the Legionnaires, who were beginning to whisper to one another, still tossing curious glances his way. 

Ultra Boy slowly unfolded his arms. “Things are… not great,” he said. “They haven't been for about five years now.”

Sprock, that was right around the time the Blight had begun to spread in earnest. Could the two have been connected, somehow? Had the Blight prevented whatever this was? Querl was hardly one to make the mistake of likening correlation to causation, but it was suspicious nonetheless. He resisted the temptation to contemplate the matter further, instead focusing on the explanation. “ _What_ started five years ago?”

“That’s… a long story,” Jo Nah said, grimacing slightly. “Care to come inside?”

Querl nodded, gesturing for him to lead the way, which Jo did, turning and heading into Legion HQ, pausing to tap in a string of numbers into a keypad at the doors, which whooshed open with a hydraulic hiss. So not all technology had become obsolete, it seemed. That was something of a relief. Still, the fact that there had been no voice or facial recognition system in place was alarming. Querl still didn’t know the extent to which the virus had affected AI systems, but if something as basic as voice or visual systems were compromised… Well. He’d know how worried he should be once Ultra Boy explained what had happened, in detail.

* * *

Once they had settled into a conference room with Jo, Tinya, and Luornu, Querl quickly became aware of the _looks_ the three legionnaires kept tossing his way. It was disconcerting, especially since Imra was frowning at him now, too. Of course she knew what had happened, to some extent. After all, she was _Titanian._ The fact that she _knew_ what they were about to say and she was _frowning_ made Querl even more nervous. Turning to the three who had led their ragtag band of time travelers to the conference room, he leaned forward. “Please explain what has happened,” he urged. “All of my calculations indicated this was the correct time to return to, and yet, I confess that I have absolutely no idea what events could have transpired to create the situation in which we find ourselves.” That wasn’t precisely true - after all, he had a very good suspicion. 

“It came out of nowhere, really,” Tinya began, hesitantly. “There was this organization, they called themselves _The Dark Circle._ They’ve been around for years, actually-”

“Yes, as far as I was aware they were merely a philosophical movement that rejects the advances of technology and calls for a return to one’s baser instincts and emotions,” Querl said, recognizing the name. They hadn’t been a particularly powerful organization in this time. Not the time with which he was most familiar, anyway. Considering the terror of the Blight sweeping the universe, it was of little surprise that a return to raw emotions like ‘fear’ or ‘anger’ was not exactly a popular philosophy. 

Tinya nodded to acknowledge the truth of Querl’s statement. “That’s correct. However, about five years ago, one of their senior members went… rogue.” 

Querl’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, an unintended reaction, though not altogether inappropriate considering the unexpected nature of this information. “Rogue _how?”_

“They released a public statement, claiming that technology was the foundation of all the evils in our universe,” Jo said, taking over for Tinya. “And they started actively attacking factories and scientific institutions.” He gave Querl an apologetic look. “One of the first places they hit was the Time Institute, actually.”

Querl winced. “That is… unfortunate,” he said. He couldn’t exactly call the people there _friends,_ and he was fairly confident such sentiment would be reciprocated. Nonetheless, he knew how frustrating it could be to lose valuable research notes and materials, which would have doubtless occurred if the Time Institute was attacked by a terrorist organization. 

“Yeah,” Jo agreed, “Especially since the prototype you left there was destroyed in the attack.”

Querl frowned. Prototype? What prototype? His confusion must have shown on his face, because Luornu spoke up.

“You’d started working on a personal time-travel device,” Luorno jumped in to clarify. “You called it the _time bubble_. It was too dangerous to work on it here, you said you needed a space that had the right safety protocols.”

Fighting to maintain a neutral expression, Querl considered that. Even if that _had_ been the reason he’d given the Legion, it didn’t make sense to _him._ True, he’d had far more advanced laboratories and materials at the Time Institute, but the protocol and scrutiny the projects were placed under weren’t worth the slightly reduced chance of catastrophic failure. Time travel was complex, yes, but not any more inherently dangerous than most of his other technical pursuits. Why would his alternate past self have been working at the Time Institute again? Especially since he’d left on such… poor terms. There was nothing for it, he would just accept that his alternate past self had a good reason to do so. He trusted his own genius, even if he lacked sufficient information to fully understand his reasoning. “So the Dark Circle began attacking,” Querl said, nodding carefully. “And then?”

“Well, we were trying to find out who the leader was, who was in the inner circle, what their motives were,” Tinya continued. “It took us the better part of a year, but we finally got a promising lead. We sent a team out to capture their leader. But…” She swallowed, suddenly unable to meet Querl’s gaze.

Even more disconcerting, Querl realized that _all three_ of the Legionnaires giving them their debrief were _pointedly_ avoiding eye contact with him. “Something happened to me,” Querl said. “Something bad?”

“You were separated from the rest of the team,” Ultra Boy said. “We’re still not sure how, but in the confusion, the leader got you alone. She… she hurt you.”

“We got you out of there,” Tinya said quickly, “but it was… bad. She was trying to kill you. She nearly succeeded. The recovery was long and painful.” 

They still hadn’t met his gaze. There was something they _weren’t_ saying. “What aren’t you telling me?” Querl demanded.

“Brainy,” Imra laid a hand on his arm, a look of concern crossing her features. “I don’t think it’s a good idea…”

“I have a right to know!” Querl snapped. “More than that, in order to adequately assess the situation, I _need_ to know!” 

The three exchanged glances. Finally, Tinya turned to Querl, her eyes filled with a deep sadness. “The leader of the Dark Circle… She was your mother, Brainy. Brainiac Four.”

Querl felt himself stiffen involuntarily. _What? Impossible._ His mother was… sick, yes. She was not a good person. But to lead fanatics in a crusade against technology when she was, herself, a product of technology, every bit as much as any other Coluan alive? It didn’t make _sense._ And to use her crimes to lure _him_ to her? What reason could she have to do such a thing? If she’d _called_ , he would have come, she didn’t have to _deceive_ him like that. But it didn’t end there, because she’d had a specific purpose in mind when she’d lured him to her. She’d tried to murder him. Murder her own son. 

Querl didn’t feel like he had adequate emotional capacity to fully consider the ramifications of that at the moment, so he balled up whatever he was feeling, crushing his emotions into a ball and forcing them down until they were barely even present in his mind. “I see,” he said, wishing there was a less awkward way to say what he was about to say. “But that doesn’t explain the lack of COMPUTO, or why we were told that all forms of AI are under attack.”

“It does, sort of,” Luornu said. “You recovered, in time. But in the time it took to bring you back, the Dark Circle had everything they needed to unleashed its latest attack.” 

Querl frowned. “You didn’t _capture_ Brainiac Four?”

“We did,” Jo quickly assured him. “But what we didn’t know is that she had already groomed her successor.”

They were _still_ avoiding eye contact. “Who?”

“Pirn Dox,” Luorno said softly. “Your cousin? He, uh. He took the name Brainiac Six.”

Querl frowned, taking the news remarkably well, or so he thought, considering that he felt as though all of existence was crashing down on him. “But Pirn only has tenth level intellect,” he protested, as though this was an appropriate response to the news that _two_ of his family members had apparently taken it upon themselves to utterly _wreck_ the universe. His response was taken far better than he’d expected. In fact, Tinya and Luornu both laughed outright, and Jo had to smother a snicker behind a fist and a forced cough.

“Sorry,” Tinya said, “It’s just… that’s exactly what you said when you heard it the first time, too.”

“For someone who’s so set on changing the perceptions of your family name, you’re very… particular… about who is allowed to take up the Brainiac mantle,” Jo noted.

“Brainiacs have twelfth level intellect,” Querl protested. “It is a title that is handed down through my clan to those who meet the criteria. Pirn does not meet the criteria. It is therefore unacceptable for him to use that name.” He didn’t quite know why it bothered him so much - after all, his mother had clearly done enough to ruin his family’s name in this time, what did it really matter that his cousin had also taken steps to further tarnish the Brainiac reputation? But it wasn’t _right,_ Pirn had never felt the _ostracization_ that came with a Brainiac title, it was disingenuous to only use that title when it was _useful._ Querl had been wrestling with the prejudices associated with such a title for most of his life. It wasn’t _fair._ He knew it was rather childish to be so bothered by such a trite detail, but…

“Well, unacceptable or not, he used it when he announced an imminent detonation of a viral payload in the Coluan mainframe,” Jo said, a bit waspishly. “He gave credit for the design to the original Brainiac, said he was _finally carrying out his ancestor’s greatest wish_... but the actual upload was his doing.” He swallowed hard. “We still aren’t sure how much of him is Pirn, and how much might be… well, the original Brainiac.”

“I don't understand,” Querl said, “It’s true my people have ancestral memory, we can be aligned with previous ancestors, but…” He’d never heard of a _total overwrite_ before. The very idea was horrifying in the extreme. “I don’t understand,” he said again, reeling from the information that had just been handed to him. “Colu was the initial target?”

“They… they weren’t _right,_ Brainy. They wanted to see suffering. They _wanted_ to see death, and they wanted that death to come to Artificial Intelligence and technology,” Tinya’s expression was much softer than Jo’s, her voice hard but not cutting. “I don’t know why, if it was a suppressed self-hatred that caused Brainiac Four to lash out, or if she was so broken that she didn’t see anything wrong with what they were doing. All we know is that she was imprisoned and Brainiac Six - as he calls himself - is some terrible fusion of Pirn Dox and the first Brainiac.”

“We also know they want to destroy all other AIs, but you know what Colu is like… it's so isolated. It wasn’t until Brainiac Six-”

“Pirn,” Querl muttered.

With a dirty look, Tinya picked up where Jo had left off. “It wasn't until Dox released the footage of his attack that we knew, and by then… a number of ships far beyond Coluan space were already drifting, paralyzed.” 

Querl nodded slowly. “The virus jumped from the planet to nearby systems.”

Tinya nodded, but it was Luornu who spoke. “By the time you woke up, it had already reached planetside here on Earth, too.” 

Querl nodded. “And then?”

“You immediately began researching a way to defeat your... ancestor possessed cousin?” She shrugged, obviously not willing to work at a more concise description. “We thought going back in time a few years might be enough, but you determined that the virus still had a high likelihood of being used by another member of the Dark Circle, even if we were able to apprehend both Brainiac Four and Brainiac Six-”

“Pirn Dox,” Querl interjected, ignoring the irritated look Jo shot his way. There were _rules_ about who got to be a Brainiac, and Querl would never accept a self-declared Brainiac. 

Luornu sighed heavily. “Even _if_ we could catch Brainiac Four and Pirn, it was highly likely that there were other members of the Dark Circle who had access to the code, and it was difficult to identify with certainty _when_ the code was developed, as we still don’t _actually_ know if it was your mother, your ancestor, or Pirn who created it.”

“That follows,” Querl said, trying not to think too hard about the possibility of his mother wandering from planet-to-planet, designing a killer code that would destroy all known life on his homeworld. If he thought about it too much he would just get sick again, and he didn’t have _time_ for that. “Obviously I would need to identify an individual who would be able to contend with Pirn - or my ancestor, as the case may be - _without_ falling victim to the virus. A tech genius who is not, like myself, made of technology, but rather someone who is comfortable with tech to the extent that they would pose a serious threat to my cousin. Or ancestor. Whoever is currently inhabiting the body.”

“Yes!” Tinya agreed, “that was precisely the conclusion you came to, and you found someone in the twenty-first century that you thought would be an ideal recruit for this fight.”

Querl nodded slowly. “Something went wrong,” he surmised. It wasn’t hard to tell - after all, if he had succeeded, this would _not_ be the current timeline.

“You plotted a course using the legion cruiser,” Luornu said. “Mon-El, Imra, Rokk, Reep, and Salu were going with you. But…”

“Something went wrong,” Querl said again, noting the uncomfortable looks once more passing between the three seated before them. “What was it?”

“You were so careful,” Tinya said softly. “But we think… there must have been a sleeper code embedded in your system. From when your mother attacked you.”

His chest tightened as realization trickled through him. “The virus.”

Jo nodded. “We got a call when you were less than an _hour_ from the disruption. You… It happened so fast. No one knew what was wrong, except… _you.”_

Querl knew what had happened immediately. “I wrote down the exact coordinates we needed and plotted the route manually. In case the cruiser systems failed.”

“No one knew what had happened, at first. The cruiser was dead in space, and when they came to the bridge, the walls were _covered_ in blood.” Luornu swallowed hard. “Your blood. You didn’t have any physical writing utensils, everything was electronic. Everyone was being so careful, but you must have worried it was too great a risk…”

“I cut my finger and used my own blood to write the necessary coordinates on the walls of the bridge so whoever found it would be able to manually navigate to the time we needed,” Querl said. He wasn’t asking. He knew himself, he knew exactly what he would have done were he in that situation. 

“They couldn’t risk keeping you on the cruiser in case your virus _did_ infect it,” Jo said quietly. “They called us. It was awful. We had no time, not after seeing… that.”

Querl nodded. “You jettisoned me into the nearest star, as I requested.”

Tinya’s eyes widened. “How did you-”

Trying his best not to take his frustration out on an innocent party, Querl sighed heavily. “Because I _know myself._ After taking the time to carefully lay out the coordinates, the last piece of necessary information I wrote would be my request for last rites to be foregone in favor of expedience.”

“You’re right,” Jo said. He leaned back in his chair, still unable to meet Querl’s eyes as he finished the story. “After they. Uh. Discarded your body, they followed the coordinates to the disruption.That’s the last thing we heard from them. Until, four years later, here you are.”

“Here we are,” Querl echoed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I was really struggling.  
> Based on the information I dug up from Season Five, I heard that Winn says something about fighting Brainy's cousin, but when Brainy recruited them, he cited his "ancestor... the evil one", who, having survived the blight, unleashed a virus that was killing all AIs.  
> So we have two different stories. Are we fighting, or are we counteracting a virus? Is it his ancestor, or his cousin?  
> Now I've reached the point in the show where Brainy claims his people have ancestral memory, so I'm just sort of running with that to the conclusion that was introduced as a major turning point in the LOSH cartoon, and saying that the old files of Brainiac tucked into the memory of the Dox family were somehow unlocked and he was able to possess the Coluan. Only instead of Brainy being possessed, it was this cousin, Pirn. (Coincidentally, there are no listed ancestors outside the direct family line, so I just invented a Sister for Brainy's mother who I believe is the Brainiac in this timeline. Depending on the comic, sometimes it's his father, but the implications from the whole "your mother must have taught you well" "no she most certainly did not" conversation said, to me at least, that in Supergirl's universe it's brainy's Mother who is the Brainiac).  
> Plus the whole "Dark Circle" bit just fit so well from the same Brainiac 4 arc, I just really wanted to include it. I was also glad to include it because it further complicated the issue such that they don't know for sure who will be the one to unleash the virus, and they'll need someone to fight who is guaranteed to be safe from the virus until its eradication can be 100% confirmed.  
> Anyway, I really enjoyed noodling this out, sorry that I just invented a family member for Brainy, that's my OC limit for this fic, I think.  
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Requisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Querl identifies the person who may be able to help stop his ancestors. It's... unexpected.

Upon inspecting Legion Headquarters, it became clear that Querl’s prediction regarding the state of technology had been correct. HQ was, externally at least, very similar to the headquarters they had left behind when they had been thrown back to the past. However, this building lacked the sophisticated security system Querl had painstakingly installed, and all other systems that had been operated by COMPUTO. 

Now, Querl was stuck in his lab with an _actual physical notepad,_ taking down the information on the individual they were seeking so he could determine the best way to make use of their limited resources and travel back in time _again._ He was finding that not being able to use an omnicom was both frustrating and painful. Frustrating, because it meant he had to physically scrawl all of his notes in Interlac, which took far longer than simply mentally dictating and watching the words appear on a screen. Painful, because he had been scribbling his notes in interlac for the better part of an hour and was beginning to develop a cramp in his wrist. 

He was unused to hand-writing his notes. Even when he’d been in the 21st century, most of his work had been on computers. It was degrading, to be reduced to mere strokes on a page to try and work out his ideas. Everything was so sprocking _slow,_ his mind felt as though it was whirling away from him, so much faster than his cramping hand.

“Well, Brainy? How’s it look?” Rokk asked, coming up from behind Querl to read over his shoulder.

Querl turned slightly, so Rokk wouldn’t be able to read his notes. Not that it mattered. They were so cramped and convoluted he doubted the Braalian would be able to make heads or tails of them anyway. His handwriting was atrocious. He had never needed it for more than the occasional scribbled notation prior to this point in his life, so he didn't feel particularly put out by this failing. It didn't make his wrist feel better, though.

“I have identified the technology advances that led my temporal predecessor to believe that this individual was the best choice to counter my cousin's attack,” Querl said, “and I am in the process of learning the identity of this individual.” Turning, he looked at Rokk, clarifying. “The information on this person remains shrouded in mystery, but they appear to have hailed from the twenty-first century.” 

“That’s where you just came from, wasn't it?” Rokk asked, ignoring the fact that, _technically,_ he’d been in the 21st century too. He had simply been asleep for the duration of the visit, and thus did not recall their lengthy stay.

Querl wrinkled his nose in irritation. It was troubling that he had not anticipated needing to rely on such an individual while he had been in the right place, at the right time. Then again, Querl had absolutely _no recall_ of this individual in his own mind, which implied that this… (human? Likely. Though not all residents of Earth at that time were truly human, statistically speaking, it was the most reasonable assumption) inventor was possibly a survivor of the Blight who would have died without their intervention. 

Fascinating. Their own actions to prevent the Blight also provided a solution to their problem, a problem which was also a result of preventing the spread of the Blight. While this was an intriguing conundrum, trying to determine the identity of this individual with limited historical records and _significantly_ limited access to computer systems was proving to be a challenge.

“Everything has changed as a result of our actions,” Querl pointed out. “I do not even know _of_ this person as their works are all completely unheard of from the time of the Blight, and yet... some of the technological advances pioneered by this individual appear to be foundational structures upon which today's technology is based. It is…” Querl resisted the urge to sigh, “...admittedly genius-level work. Considering, of course, the limitations of the time.” 

Rokk’s eyebrows jumped towards his hairline. “Did you just admit to another person’s work being _genius?”_

“Having only recently returned from that time period I can unequivocally say that managing to produce any functional tech is a work of exceptional skill and likely boundless patience.” Now Querl _did_ sigh, turning to look at Rokk. “It was so _sprocking_ frustrating, their computers are so _stupid_ it was like talking to a _stone_. Twenty-first century computers are a lump of electrical impulses and silicon, they have no heart…” he shut his mouth suddenly, feeling as though he had shared quite a bit more than was intended. “It was infuriating,” he summarized.

Rokk was giving him a look, a look Querl received from his peers rather consistently. They didn’t understand computers, and likely did not understand the severe chasm that divided 21st century technology from the 31st century. But when you were a _part_ of it, it was impossible to forget. 

“Sounds rough,” Rokk said, neatly underlining the precise problem with the universe at present. 

The people of this time _still_ had not fully come to terms with everything they had lost. Could not appreciate how much _his family_ had torn from them all. “What I am trying to say,” Querl turned back around to stare at his blocky interlac notations, “Is that the AI virus is far more dangerous to _us_ than people from another time - we don’t know how to survive without AI. We haven’t needed to, for _centuries.”_ He glanced back at Rokk again, trying to clearly explain his theory. “An individual from the twenty-first century would not feel as though they were being deprived, precisely because they have never known the level of advancement we once had in this time.”

Rokk shrugged lightly. “I’ll take your word for it.” He turned to leave, then paused, as though he’d remembered something. “Oh, right, I almost forgot -” he quickly approached Querl, extending a large bundle of physical note paper. “I just brought the physical images and information from all the history texts in the National Archives related to the unnamed inventor that you asked Luornu to get for you. I’m guessing that’s the same one you’re researching?” He waved a small handful of paper in Querl’s face before dropping them on top of Querl’s notebook. “There’s probably two hundred pages more that Jo and Luornu are still printing off, plus they found some more research notes that your past self made about the inventor. I put that on top of the pile, actually - I figured you would like to start with what your past self had already decided was important.”

“Yes,” Querl agreed, “Let us hope that my former self’s last days were spent on useful research. I would hate to see my previous research only to discover it is all useless, necessitating additional months of fruitless study while society as we once knew it continues to crumble.” 

Rokk made a strangled noise like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. 

Lucky for him, Querl wasn’t expecting a response. It had been a bit callous to make sarcastic remarks about his own untimely death, but Querl was stressed and under a lot of pressure. He felt as though he had earned the right to be a bit of a nass about this whole sordid predicament. But he recognized that this attitude was unhelpful, and so, taking a deep breath, Querl spoke again.“I appreciate the information,” he told Rokk. “I am certain the notes will be useful.” It was, after all, his _own_ research.

“Right,” Rokk said, moving for the door to Querl’s lab. “I’ll just… leave you to it. Good luck.”

Querl lifted a hand in a gesture of farewell, already picking up the pile of notes Rokk had dropped in front of him. He had work to do, and time was running out. If not for him, then certainly for the Legion Cruiser. He needed to gather the necessary information quickly if they stood any chance of traveling back in time again. If only he could use a _sprocking_ computer.

Querl lifted the first page, unintentionally dragging the side of it along his fingers, and - **_“_** _**_Sprock!_ **Grife! _ What the-” it had _cut_ him! Why was this paper _sharp?_ Nursing his wounded hand, Querl glared down at the pile of notes, which stared back at him accusingly. Sprocking grife. It was shaping up to be a _long_ day.

* * *

Querl was beginning to regret the lack of natural lighting in his laboratory, as the harsh glare of the lights appeared to be causing him to develop a low-grade headache. It wasn’t a particularly painful headache, it was just difficult to concentrate when absolutely anything that strayed from the norm forced him to pause and run a self-diagnostic. Despite his near-certainty that he had not been infected in the short amount of time spent in this timeline, Querl nonetheless found himself bordering on _paranoid._ He had already died before seeing this mission through to fruition once. If he died this time… well. Querl didn’t expect there would be many other people in the universe capable of plotting a route through time and space using only _pen and paper._

To be fair, though, _other people_ would be able to use a computer without risking contamination. So perhaps he wasn’t the only person who could plot their route. He was simply faster than the others. With a sigh, Querl stared at the "historic artifact" that his previous self had found incredibly important and frowned. He could have sworn he’d seen it before, but his recall was taxed by the fact that he had multiple thought-tracks running system diagnostics at regular intervals while several other thought-tracks were attempting to plot a route back to the 21st century. Even so, Querl knew that this ‘artifact’ had been noted, once before. It was in his mind, somewhere. Which meant that at some point during his time int he past, he had been close enough to the inventor to actually _take note_ of their work. How frustrating to know this _now,_ when it was going to be so hard to get back to the same time and place as he’d been before. If only he had a name, or at least a face, to put to the inventor. He could work with that! He could work with…

Work. Why was it that _work_ had sparked something? Immediately dismissing the system diagnostic, Querl attuned three of his thought-tracks to pursuing that line of thought. He could work with the inventor.

Perhaps, he already _had._

As he focused, he brought up memory after memory, scrutinizing them for details, the _slightest_ hint, and what he found was… frankly, unexpected. It couldn’t be. Despite the fact that even Querl would have been hard-pressed to predict a Blightless future with anything even resembling accuracy, the fact that he’d been _so close_ was incredibly frustrating. It didn’t matter _how_ unlikely it had been for him to know this, he still felt as though he _should have known._ Knowing that there was _no reason_ for him to know such a thing was irrelevant in the face of an emotion as illogical as frustration. 

Taking a deep breath, Querl set the artifact aside and steepled his fingers, attempting to quiet his mind as he considered the revelation. The thought-tracks he’d commandeered quietly went back to their system diagnostic as Querl mused on what he’d learned. All in all, it made a surprising amount of sense. After all, Winslow Schott had, at least according to DEO records, once opposed and prevailed against his descendant, Brainiac 8. Perhaps he was the right person to oppose Pirn. Or Brainiac. Depending on how much of the younger Coluan’s operating system had been subsumed by his evil ancestor, he might be willing to use that name instead. If Pirn was insisting on going by Brainiac 6, there was a good chance that Vril’s ancestral memory had somehow wrested control from the young Coluan entirely, as the cousin that Querl remembered hadn’t seemed the megalomaniacal sort. Of course, the _mother_ Querl remembered hadn’t seemed the filicidal sort, either, and yet! 

He was going to need a lot of time to think about the meaning of _family_ when this was all over.

For now, he had bigger things to think about. Well. Not bigger, simply more _urgent_ matters than really thinking about the fact that no matter what timeline he fled to, apparently his family was still the _sprocking worst._ But he didn’t have time to dwell on that. He needed to figure out how to plot their trajectory as precisely as possible, preferably _before_ the Cruiser, which was still equipped with onboard AI systems, shut down for good. At least now he had something to go on, but finding a way _back_ to that time would be troubling.

Querl straightened up, rolling his shoulders, and reviewed his system diagnostics. All clear. His headache appeared to be strictly biological in nature, then. Perhaps because he hadn’t slept since he’d arrived in this century nearly 57 hours earlier. Querl shook out his hand, absently wondering if he would end up developing carpal tunnel from all the unfamiliar motions, and resumed his calculations. The fine-tuning would come later, but at least he had a more clear idea of where - and _when -_ they needed to go next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did y'all know there's an entire wikipedia page dedicated to "types of killing"?  
> Well I didn't, until I wrote this chapter, and realized I only knew the words "matricide", "patricide", and "infanticide" but didn't know the word for "killing your own kid when they're NOT an infant" (which, as it turns out, is "filicide").  
> That's today's trivia...  
> Thanks again for reading! We're getting close to the end of the fic now, I hope I can wrap it up in a way that does the story justice, I'm ashamed to admit I didn't really have a plan for when/how to end the fic, I just knew "this goes between the episode they leave and then the episode they come back" which I'm only just realizing is insufficient information to know how the fic should end.  
> so. Wish me luck! :D  
> Thanks again to everyone who leaves lovely comments, they make my day


	5. Redux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to go back.

“Brainy?” a soft knock sounded from outside Querl’s lab. 

“Enter,” Querl answered, sighing to himself as he carefully gathered up his calculations. They would need to leave as little to chance as possible, and he was doing his best to calculate the route back, but the greatest hurdle he was encountering lay in taking it from inside his head and putting it into physical pages. Computer systems were designed to process information at a rapid pace. Writing down the necessary instructions for safe and effective time travel simply wasn't something one did, precisely because the sheer volume of calculations required to accomplish such a task was nothing short of astronomical. 

Imra stepped in, her expression hesitant as she glanced at the stack of papers before Querl. “I don’t want to add more to your plate, I’m sure you’re doing everything you can, but…” she glanced over her shoulder, out of the lab and down the hallway. “Mon-El just activated his beacon.”

That… that was  _ good, _ actually. If they had a signal to lock onto, they wouldn't need to plot such a precise trajectory. The cruiser could simply follow the beacon to the right time, which  _ should _ prevent them from landing in the middle of a star, or encountering other similar hazards. Upon arrival, the Cruiser would be able to function at full capacity, since the AI plague would no longer be a threat to the Cruiser systems. “Actually, Imra, that rather simplifies my task,” Querl began scooping up his papers. Now that they had an actual  _ signal _ to work with, they might be able to leave sooner than they’d expected. “I assume you will be joining me?”

Imra nodded, turning to leave as well. “Are we bringing anyone else?”

“It isn’t necessary for this mission,” Querl replied, rising from his chair and walking across the lab towards her. “After all, we’re just going to pick up Winn and Mon-El, that shouldn’t take long.”

Pausing in the doorway, Imra gave him a funny look. “Did you say Winn?” she frowned. “You mean the tech guy at the DEO? With the cardigans?”

“One and the same,” Querl answered. He suspected her question went a bit deeper, however, so he elaborated. “Apparently he is the inventor my past self identified as the most likely individual to defeat Brainiac and the AI plague. As he would have died from the first attack by pestilence, in the Blight's timeline we never knew of him or his works, as much of his work likely died with him before ever being invented.” 

Imra’s expression clouded at that. “That's so sad,” she said, “that he never lived to fulfill his true purpose. I’m glad we were able to save him, too.”

“Yes,” Querl noted drily, choosing not to point out that their actions had also preserved the life of Vril Dox, creating the mess they were now dealing with. Perhaps it was better to focus on the positive aspects of their meddling in the timeline. Still, Querl had seen just how drastically things could change - and not necessarily for the better - when he did too much to upset the balance of the timeline. He would need to remember that. 

The two of them made their way to the cruiser, at which point Querl set down his large stack of paper, picking up the top half and handing it to Imra. “Please begin inputting these codes into the cruiser navigation system,” he requested, turning to begin doing so with the other half, ignoring the prickle of paranoia at the thought of touching the computer. It was  _ fine. _ His systems were isolated, and he was running consistent system diagnostics. This was a  _ good _ thing. True, Querl would need to add a few more tweaks to these calculations, but with a signal to lock onto and most of the work he’d already finished relating to the navigation of time and space, they might manage to finish inputting the material in a matter of hours, rather than the days he had been anticipating. 

“All of these?” Imra asked. 

Querl could feel the weight of her gaze resting on him and he sighed. “Yes, Imra, all of them.” He fought the most unexpected urge to say something unkind, settling instead for a clever dig. “This isn’t rocket science. It’s  _ time travel.” _ Why was it so sprocking hard for people to remember that? 

“Right,” Imra agreed softly. “Should we get a few more legionnaires to help?”

“There are only two consoles,” Querl pointed out, “where you can access the navigation system.”

“Right,” Imra moved to the other side of the cruiser where the second navigational console was located, “I guess I’ll start, then.”

Querl turned back to his own stack of paper. He would need to double-check her input work once it was finished to ensure she didn’t transpose any numbers, as Rokk had earlier. Still, it was faster to fix a few transposed numbers than it was to input everything by himself. 

* * *

Querl may have been generous with his estimate of  _ hours. _ Already, they had passed the ten hour mark and he was still typing. Imra had gone to bed at some point. He’d made note of the time, but couldn’t be bothered to dig up the record in the thought-track that had taken down the information. His hands were beginning to shake from the combined fatigue of several days’ worth of interlac scribbles followed by hours of data input. His shoulders were stiff, his eyes  _ burned. _ This would have been so much easier if he could have just  _ talked to the sprocking computers. _

“Brainy?” Reep poked his head into the cruiser. “Have you taken a break?”

Querl continued typing, ignoring the Durlan. Unfortunately, this did not result in the desired effect of encouraging him to leave. Ah well, there had only been a 30% chance of that working, Querl suspected that Reep wouldn’t leave without at least a conversation, he was rather chatty. Reaching a reasonable stopping point, Querl stepped back from the console and turned to glance at Chameleon Boy. “What do you want, Reep?” 

Almost immediately, he regretted his tone, which had been rather cutting. It wasn’t fair to Reep, he hadn’t actually been bothering Querl for more than a few seconds. But grife , Querl was having a bad… day? Days? Week? He mentally tabulated the hours spent since their return to this time. Yes. He was having a bad  _ week. _

“Are you hungry?” Reep asked. “Breakfast is ready.” Querl was tired, frustrated, and did not have  _ time _ for breakfast. When he opened his mouth to say as much, the Durlan gave him a  _ look. _ “You haven’t eaten since you got here,” Reep told him, folding his arms over his chest, “if you don’t come eat, I’ll… tell someone who’ll  _ make _ you eat.”

Querl was tempted to point out that at the moment, Reep was the one attempting to  _ make _ him eat. But he didn’t, because it was an irrelevant detail. “I’m not hungry,” he said instead.

“It’s been four days,” Reep replied. “And before you start talking to me about how you can make your own energy, I know you still need food at  _ some _ point.” 

Querl sighed. When Reep got like this it was statistically unlikely for him to back down, so it made more sense to acquiesce and get it over with. “Fine. I’ll eat breakfast,” Querl said, moving across the cruiser. He could probably finish eating in about fifteen minutes, so it wasn’t likely to put him horribly behind schedule. Still. He didn’t like being in this timeline any longer than was absolutely necessary. 

“Yes!” Reep punched the air, a grin spreading across his face. “Let’s go get some grub!”

Hardly the vernacular Querl would have used, but he wasn’t going to complain. “Yes,” he murmured, “Let’s.” 

* * *

“Hey Brainy!” Tinya waved from her table, “Reep! Over here!”

Querl took his tray of food and made his way across the room to join her. He eased onto the bench across from her, Reep dropping beside him a moment later. “Tinya,” he greeted her, failing to mask the exhaustion in his voice, “How are you this morning?” 

“Better than you,” Tinya answered, gazing across the table at him, “But that doesn’t seem difficult, you look  _ terrible.” _

Querl stared at her for several long seconds before finally responding. “I know.”

“Did you get any sleep last night at all?” Tinya demanded, before glancing at Reep and repeating the question, “Did he get any sleep last night?”

“I don’t think he’s slept since he got here,” Reep stage-whispered.

Querl ignored them both and began cramming the food Reep had piled on his plate into his mouth as fast as he could. He hadn’t wanted much food, but the Durlan had kept adding things to his plate when he thought Querl wasn’t looking. It hadn’t been worth the time to tell him to stop, so Querl had decided he would simply need to eat more quickly. He needed to get back to the cruiser, and eating fast was more likely to be effective than arguing with Reep.

“Wow, you really must have been hungry!” Reep exclaimed, completely misunderstanding the reason why Querl was choking down food at an accelerated rate.

“Need to get back to the cruiser,” Querl managed to say around a mouthful of something smothered in maple syrup. He hadn’t bothered actually identifying any of the foods Reep had been sneaking onto his plate. He had no known food allergies, so it didn’t really matter what was there so long as it was edible. 

“Aw, come on, Brainy,” Tinya wheedled teasingly, “What’s the rush?”

Querl  _ really _ did not feel like answering that. “Take a sprocking guess,” he snapped around a mouthful of something that might have been a scone. 

Reep and Tinya  _ both _ stared at him for a long moment. “Brainy,” Reep said quietly, “That’s going a little far, don’t you think?”

He only had about five more bites to go before he could get back to the cruiser, but he recognized the truth to what Reep was saying, and took the time to completely empty his mouth, taking a sip of water before turning to Tinya. “I apologize, that was inappropriate and uncalled-for.” He then shoved another massive bite in his mouth. 

“You’re going to choke on that,” Reep protested, “And you need some  _ sleep, _ man, you’ve been going for four days straight.”

Tinya dropped her fork with a clatter. “Really?” she was eyeing Querl with undisguised concern. “Why haven’t you slept?”

Why was  _ she  _ asking so many stupid questions? Querl chose not to voice this, recognizing that some thoughts were better left unsaid, and instead shoved another bite in his mouth. 

“Look, we’re just worried about you,” Reep said pleadingly. 

Querl was worried, too. Just not in the same way. “I’ll sleep when this is over,” he said, swallowing his last bite of breakfast and rising. “Thank you for your company,” he added, glancing over to see where the tray return was located and taking up his tray. “I’ll be heading back to the cruiser now.”

“Brainy, wait!” Tinya rose and grabbed his arm, phasing through the table to stand beside him. “Why don’t you take a nap, at least?”

“Because,” Querl said, willing himself to remain civil, “I do not  _ need _ a nap. I need to finish plotting the course in the cruiser.”

“It’s not going anywhere,” Reep pointed out from his other side. “Come on man, just a few minutes, what could it hurt?”

_ “Me!” _ Querl shouted, realising they weren’t  _ getting it, _ they didn’t  _ understand, _ but then so few people really did. “It could hurt  _ me, _ which is why I am going  _ back to the cruiser.” _

“What do you mean?” Tinya demanded, “How could it  _ hurt you _ to take a  _ nap?” _

“Because I am not a _sprocking imbecile,_ Phantom Girl,” Querl snarled, throwing his tray back down on the table for emphasis. He didn’t miss the way that both Reep and Tinya flinched at the loud noise, and he hated himself a little bit for scaring them. “You think I wouldn’t have _looked_ for the virus? That I wouldn’t have been _constantly scanning for it?”_ Querl threw up his hands in frustration. “I _died,_ Tinya. And I didn’t even _know_ that I had contracted the virus until it was too late for me to _stop it!”_ Gripping his head demonstratively, Querl continued. “I’m scanning **_this_** constantly, and I’m not seeing _anything,_ but I didn’t see anything before and I still _died!”_ Resisting the urge to tug on his own hair, Querl allowed his arms to drop to his sides. “I don’t want to die,” he said miserably, “and the faster I leave this time, the better chance I have of survival.” He took a deep breath. “So no, I’m not going to take a nap. I’m going back to the cruiser.”

She didn’t try to stop him, this time.

* * *

“You didn’t have to shout,” Imra said softly, several minutes after he had returned to the cruiser.

Of course she’d heard that. The whole room had probably been reacting wildly to his outburst, it would have been hard not to pick up the psychic reaction. “Yes, I did,” Querl contradicted her accusation. “It would have taken too long to try reasoning with them.”

“There are better ways to convince people you’re right,” Imra replied, “even if they may not be as… efficient.”

“I don’t have the time or the energy to be kind right now,” Querl said. He wished he did. “How close are you to finishing?”

“Just a few more pages,” Imra answered, indicating the drastically reduced stack beside her. 

Querl had already finished double-checking most of his own work, and was ready to start checking her work to ensure there had been no mistakes. With some luck, they would be ready to depart within the hour. 

They continued to work in silence for some time before Imra spoke again. “They were just trying to show you how much they care.”

“I know,” Querl answered wearily, shutting his eyes for a moment. “I just wish they’d also tried to understand.”

And that was he crux of it, really, he thought, as they prepared the cruiser for departure a mere thirty-two minutes later. Imra had gone to say goodbye. Querl was willing to admit that he did not wish to say goodbye. There was an irrational part of him that feared if he did wish his friends farewell, it would be for the last time.  _ Again.  _ He didn't expect his friends to understand him, no one ever really did, but he  _ wanted _ them to understand, to see that sometimes saying goodbye was infinitely more terrifying than just... leaving. That was why he hadn’t told anyone he was dying, that first time. This time, he’d wanted them to understand that he was  _ afraid,  _ even as he understood that they, too, were afraid.

It was not the first time Querl wished he were better at offering comfort to his friends. It was not the first time Querl wished they were better at offering comfort to him. Friendship, he had learned, was an incredibly difficult skill to master.

“Brainy!” Imra called from outside, “Come and say goodbye!”

Querl was not good at emotional conversations. He was not good at understanding other people, any more than they could understand him. Much as he would like to step aside and allow Imra to offer the empathy that Querl was ill-equipped to emulate, he would not. This, too, was part of friendship. 

With a sigh, he went out to bid his 31st century friends farewell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ending was very hard to write, in part because I got them putting info in the cruiser and everything else was pretty well set when I realized  
> "if they leave now theres no catharsis, what a bad ending"  
> So I had to bring Reep and Tinya back for a bit of emotional fallout, and that worked out well!  
> and then Imra and Querl had one last conversation, b ut there was still a bit missing  
> ANd so I went back and looked at the beginning and realised that, with the sort of opening I gave it, this story has to be about saying goodbye to friends/lovers, and Querl not knowing how to deal with it, which is what led to the ending we see here  
> Thanks again to everyone for sticking with me!!


End file.
